


Lingua Franca -- Or, an interlude about tongues and bodies.

by periphrasis



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Language Barrier, M/M, My First Fanfic, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periphrasis/pseuds/periphrasis
Summary: After the Cup of China, Yuuri and Victor attempt to redefine their relationship.  In English.  On no sleep.  In a hotel room.  In some ways, actions speak louder than words.  But more words would help.





	

 

After the cameras, after everything, they were in an elevator in a hotel in Beijing, and Victor reached for Yuuri's hand.  But he didn't say anything, and so Yuuri didn't say anything, and so Victor didn't say anything, and so Yuuri didn't say anything.

This, one might say, was a pattern.

By the time Victor took his hand back to fish for the key card in his coat pocket, Yuuri was no longer entirely sure what had happened.

Could you kiss someone on the mouth as a friend?  Did they do that, in Russia?

He was tired.  He was so tired.  Victor held the door open for him.  Yuuri went in and fell hard onto his bed, burying his face in one of the pillows.  Victor started taking his coat off, and that pulled Yuuri's eyes back, because it always did that.

He had shared rooms with other skaters.  He'd shared rooms with coaches.  He'd never shared a room with anybody who spent as much time undressed as Victor.

But no, this time it was just the coat.  Tie off, waistcoat unbuttoned, but then he stopped and came over to sit on the bed.

He didn't say anything, and so Yuuri didn't say anything, and so Victor didn't say anything, and so Yuuri had to say something.

"Do you want to kiss me again?"

Was that even the right way to say it?  Yuuri had never had a girlfriend.  He'd never had a boyfriend.  He'd never had a conversation about kissing in English.  He'd never had a conversation about kissing in Japanese, either, but he thought it might have been easier.  It probably wouldn't have been easier.

"Again?"

Yuuri sat up partway, and Victor just sat there on the edge of the bed smiling at him like a madman.

Had it even happened?

"You kissed me, after I got off the ice."

"Did I?"

Had it been an accident?  Had he imagined it?  Yuuri sat up the rest of the way.

"I'm not sure that I did," Victor went on, as lightly as though he were talking about the weather.  "You know, it was all over the television, after, and somehow not a single clear picture in which I kissed you."

His heart had been racing, when he'd finished his free skate.  It was racing now, and as hard to breathe as it had been in those frozen moments before he'd seen Victor's reaction.  Before Victor had--he had.  He had.

"You kissed me," said Yuuri, more firmly now, "after I got off the ice."

Did Victor ever stop smiling?  "You told me you didn't want me to kiss you."

"I didn't, before."

Victor seemed to be sitting much closer to him without having moved at all.

The bedspread was an uninspired sort of floral pattern.  And scratchy, despite this being a nice hotel.  The sheets had been nice.  But the fabric under Yuuri's hand was rough.  Distracting.  What had he asked?  Two things fit together in his head, like a key into a lock.

He could feel every one of the earlier jumps still in his thighs and calves.  They protested as he moved, as he straddled Victor's lap.  If he'd stopped to think about it, he wouldn't have done it.  He wouldn't have been able to do it.  But he didn't think about it, and Victor's arms were around him, and it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I want you to kiss me again."

The key turned, and Victor's smile changed in the moment--the half of a breath--before their mouths were together again.

There had been whole afternoons spent, in what felt like another lifetime, with Victor teaching him those quads, in which he had failed and fallen again and again.  He’d sported the bruises down to the beach like battle scars.  He hadn’t given up.

In the face of trying to actually undo the buttons of Victor's shirt, backwards, Yuuri's hands seemed to lose all coordination and he got so frustrated.  “Stupid--stupid.  Sorry.”

"You're rushing," said Victor, and he could so easily have done it himself, but he waited until Yuuri's hands stopped shaking.  "We have all night."

"We don't have all night.  We have to be to the airport by seven.  I haven't slept."

"Would you prefer to go to bed?"

Hands steadier, Yuuri took his time about the first button, and the next one went easier.  "We're in bed."

"Do you want to sleep?"

It was all coming together.  He was getting the hang of this.  "I want to sleep with you."

Victor needed so much reassurance.  Was he nervous?  How could he possibly be nervous?  He looked placid as a lake on a day without wind.  He looked like he knew what he was doing.

After that, as they were undressing each other, they were both rushing.  Yuuri caught Victor in the side of the head with an elbow trying to get his own shirt off, but thankfully not hard.  Victor lifted him off of his lap, pushed him down onto the bed, and started on his pants.

_This_ , Yuuri thought, _is actually happening_.

When he'd thought about it happening, and he certainly had thought about it happening, there was always a certain blur over things once they reached this point. There was no blur in real life, when his pants were around his hips and Victor's hand was on his erection.  His mouth.  Victor's mouth.

The rising panic was quelled for a few moments by Yuuri's complete inability to think about anything at all.

It was replaced a few moments later, when Victor pulled away again, by the frantic thought that he had forgotten the entirety of the English language.  "Victor."  That he remembered.  "Don't... have..."  Nouns.  He'd forgotten nouns.  All of them.

"Don't worry."  Victor was climbing up over him, looking down at him, kissing him again, smiling again.  "I have everything."

Yuuri took his pants off properly--and everything else--while Victor was getting up to get things out of his suitcase.  Victor did have everything.  A bottle of lubricant.  Condoms.  Yuuri wondered how often Victor had been hooking up with people when he travelled.  When the box proved unopened, he wondered when he’d thought Victor might have had time to have eyes for anyone else.   _But--_

"You knew I'd want it?"  Maybe he hadn't forgotten English completely.

"I thought you were going to want it ages ago."

On ice, Yuuri had been practicing seducing this man.  In bed, he sat there naked, cross-legged, until Victor came back, like his lack of clothing was just a weird coincidence, even though he was so hard that he ached.  "I've never done it before."

Victor was sitting on the bed again--no, climbing into it, kissing Yuuri again, rendering him prone.  And he was laughing.

_He's laughing at me._ _I should be worried._  But he didn't feel worried.  Victor's hands were on him again.

"I did figure that out."

"You have.  Done it."

Victor's mouth was on his neck.  "Does it bother you?"

"No," said Yuuri.  Then:  "I want to murder everyone who ever looked at you that way."

"That would mean getting dressed."

"Fuck that."  

Yuuri so rarely swore.  The death threats hadn't done it, but actually swearing got another laugh.  "Fuck me," Victor said in return, and Yuuri felt like he'd just slammed into the ice, his heart in his throat.

He didn't know what to do, but he didn't need to, as it turns out.  Except laying back, which was hard to do because he wanted to keep his eyes on everything Victor was doing.  With the condom, first, and then a quantity of lubricant that made him glad he wasn't laying directly on the sheets.  He had spent an absurd number of hours in his life staring at Victor's legs, and now as the older man straddled him he put his hands on his thighs.  The muscle felt solid.  Real.

Later, he would think, he wouldn't have made it through the first moment of penetration if it weren't for the rubber.  It was still too much.

Victor had been around him almost every moment he wasn't in the bathroom since they'd arrived in Beijing.  Within arm's reach, even, almost that whole time.  Now that he was in fact inside Victor, there was a scorching awareness that he had not actually gotten off since they'd left Japan.  "Don't move."  He could barely breathe.  Barely remember the words.  "Please."

Victor didn't move, for a long time, just sitting there with his eyes on Yuuri's face.  He was the picture of in control, except... maybe he wasn't.  He was breathing hard.  His cheeks were flushed.  When he did start to move again, he seemed to have more energy than Yuuri would have--of course, he hadn't had to compete today, did he?  But he was masturbating, then, and Yuuri thought about the rushed showers on their way to the competition.

He hadn't had a chance.  Had Victor?

He lasted longer than Victor did, as it turned out.  But Victor never slowed down for it.  Yuuri was intensely aware of the trail of come left on his stomach, and of Victor's hands resting on his chest.  The weight of him.  Keeping Yuuri grounded there until he was shaking and crying, and then Victor's mouth was on his again, and they laid together like that for a long time.

Long enough that it made managing the condom afterwards more complicated, but they were both more relaxed, then.  Yuuri was able to laugh, finally.  He felt lighter than he'd ever felt.

"When you win," Victor murmured almost directly into his ear, "I get my katsudon."  They were just words.  The tone meant more.  The squeeze of Victor’s arms around him.  They were a promise that had nothing to do with food.

In the dark, after, showers neglected, both of them arranged sticky between the sheets, Yuuri laid awake long after Victor had fallen asleep.  

He had passed exhaustion into some other state entirely.  Listening to every breath.  Aware of every inch of skin in contact with this man who was going to leave him in December.  Who had done this before, no doubt, and would do it again.  

By the time he fell asleep, Yuuri had managed to talk himself into that, the idea that this couldn't possibly mean for Victor what it meant for him, and the rush of leaving in the morning precluded doing it again.  They didn't talk about it.

But it had happened.  Whether people had seen it or not.  Victor had kissed him.

They'd had a beautiful summer.  Now, the leaves would turn, and the weather would grow cool. He thought, drowsy on the plane, Victor's hand in his and Victor's head on his shoulder, that he could enjoy this while it lasted.  Victor mumbled in his sleep.  He dreamt in Russian.  Incomprehensible.

September.  Fall, they said in English, and Yuuri let himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever posted here. This might be the first fic I've ever actually let someone else read--I certainly can't remember any others. I have no idea how this works. If anybody will find it. But this has been a shitty year and I needed an escape, and then there was YOI. I got to thinking about whether it was really plausible for them to have hooked up at this point, given everything that happens afterwards. It turns out that miscommunication covers a multitude of sins.
> 
> And I like words. A lot.


End file.
